


breathe in whiskey, breathe out smoke

by orphan_account



Series: the weight of weariness [2]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hyungwon knows why the caged bird sings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe in whiskey, breathe out smoke

hyungwon knows why the caged bird sings.

sometimes, he thinks about the future. dreams and thinks and prays, shaking clasped hands raised to the heavens beyond. thinks about how no matter hard he tries, his dreams aren't going to come true, aren't going to slide into his life. his saving grace will come in a temporary cup of coffee, milk sinking to the bottom of the mug, nothing but disappointing in comparison to his vision of a prince flying on the breezes of the sky. 

changkyun is his cup of coffee. changkyun breathes in and hyungwon breathes in with his. hyungwon manages to fit himself in the gaps in changkyun's breaths, curls himself up so he doesn't take up enough space to bother changkyun. 

changkyun notices, says nothing. it is how they have always been and it is how they will be. 

hyungwon doesn't speak much, hasn't spoken since his outburst in his study room. he's been guided outside to sit on the couch, watches changkyun sort through his dirty laundry and toss it into a laundry basket. he feels like a candle; anything but consistent, wavering as and when the wind blows. he feels impossibly weak. 

the older man promises him that he's going to help hyungwon. he's going to send the clothes to a laundry place, get real food for the both of them instead of letting hyungwon subsist on instant meals. his promises are fleeting, flitting, and they pass through hyungwon's head like the voices that plague him at night. 

he can't help but stare after changkyun's retreating figure as the older man heads towards the kitchen to rummage through his drawers. will changkyun be another tide in a sea of lies, will he be the first one to stay? the possibility of betrayal haunts hyungwon. 

he listens as changkyun throws a laundry bag. it skids and slams into the coffee table, and hyungwon jolts at the sudden sound. 

"sorry." changkyun sighs, resting his hands on his hips. sweat falls from stray strands of hair, rolling down his neck. his face is flushed and red from the humidity in the apartment. "didn't mean to. hey, you have the same coffee machine as hyunwoo." changkyun dusts off the antique, muttering something about how the machine is so new that they could repackage it, sell it as a new model and no one would bat an eye. 

hyungwon himself has never seen the machine in his life, but he nods anyway. 

hyungwon listens to changkyun complaining about his employer for the next ten minutes. changkyun says that son hyunwoo's a crook who fired kihyun for not picking up on the first ring. that hyunwoo is known for snatching the royalties earnt by his authors. that he knows that he has the power to trap his writers in as long as he continues doing this to them. changkyun turns even redder when he speaks about hyunwoo, and hyungwon's shocked at this turn of emotions. 

he has never seen changkyun this angry before. maybe he has been deluded into thinking that changkyun is as demure as he treats hyungwon normally. time eats away at everyone in the end; so is it just a waiting game for the two of them? 

but changkyun quiets after that, the temper in his cheeks dissipating as fast as a flame being quietened. "i'm going out to the laundromat," changkyun utters. "care to join me?" 

hyungwon is impossibly tired from the frequent bouts of crying and panic that have tortured him for hours on end throughout the night. he had spent the night buried into the crook of changkyun's neck and in his arms. somehow, even changkyun's did not manage to quell the nightmares. changkyun tries. he can feel changkyun trying, feels the sympathy that oozes from changkyun's skin like poison. he's too tired to move, but feels as if he should. 

so he does. he gathers the bits and pieces of himself off the couch, the hideous brokenness that makes him up. 

moves. he feels like a flightless bird with its neck wrung as he walks. tests the soles of his feet, skin tough and insensitive. 

changkyun opens the door, and hyungwon is filled with trepidation, fear of the way the door rattles when it growls against poorly-oiled hinges, fear of the ghosts hiding behind the walls of the other homes. this is not the best place in town, and hyungwon knows that there are seedier things happening when he has his eyes closed. when he looks away. 

a few steps later, changkyun stiffens upon seeing a bullet embedded into the wall ahead of them. the surrounding plaster is charred, a ring of smoke staining the wall. he doesn't need to point it out to hyungwon for the younger man to realize. 

it doesn't really faze hyungwon, but changkyun's features are mangled.

changkyun turns back to grasp hyungwon's hand, a realization dawning on him. 

it feels like a stone sinking to the bottom of a rampageous river. 

"hyungwon," changkyun's voice is low, "move in with me." 

hyungwon squirms lightly under his gaze, but nods. 

"okay." 

/

changkyun makes hyungwon wait outside while he goes into the grocery store to get whatever he wants for hyungwon. he says that it's better if hyungwon doesn't come in with him, because it's too loud inside and he knows that sounds still terrify hyungwon. it will be difficult to cope with the noise, seeing as that hyungwon is used to silence and the sound of his screams, nothing else. 

hyungwon stares at the faces in the crowd, blending and clashing. there's a businessman in a pressed suit on his way to work, briefcase anchored at his hip. girls in school uniforms and blazers making their way to school with cups of bubble tea in hand, laptops in the other. an old man taking a small dog on a morning walk. people with lives, people who have lived lives, people who are living lives. people who refuse the voices in their own heads in favour of surviving. 

he exhales, tries to make out the figure of changkyun through the clear glass wall. why should changkyun have to live for him? 

he closes his eyes and the whole world drops dead. 

(he thinks he made changkyun up in his own head.)

/ 

"--hyungwon?" changkyun drops plastic bags at hyungwon's feet, pressing a thumb to the corner of hyungwon's lips. his finger's cold from the forbidding winter, piercing chills into hyungwon's skin, but changkyun doesn't see him so much as jolt. 

"hyungwon. i'm here." 

hyungwon doesn't respond, cold and unmoving in changkyun's arms. 

/ 

it's surprising that changkyun has an apartment of his own. owned, not rented, which makes it even more surprising, seeing as he's perpetually pinned under hyunwoo's thumb. 

it's even more surprising that he has enough room for another person. it's not just another hundred or so pounds in the place. it's the weight of their existence, the shouldered burden of care. changkyun doesn't know if he'll be able to do it, will be able to support someone else. but it's hyungwon, and maybe that makes things different. 

he looks at the bags he's gotten onto the glass table. he's asked hyungwon to take the guest room and wash up, too buzzed with the anticipation of a new face to speak much. it will be nice to have someone new around these parts, changkyun mulls. he wonders how hyungwon is going to explain his absence back home, the bulletholes in the cracked plaster. as far as he remembers, hyungwon has had the less than luxurious place for five years under his parents' names, despite both of them being six feet under coal and ash. no one has ever known him, and no one ever will. 

it's not that hyungwon has done anything wrong, changkyun reassures himself, although it feels feeble. there is nothing wrong with him. hyungwon just possesses a tendency to be forgotten by the world. does the spine not forget that it has wings after repeated falls into concrete? do veins do not remember that they carry blood when the very same ichor bursts from them? if someone does not live, do they not forget? 

he runs a hand through his hair and moves deeper into the house, the food on the table forgotten. 

the walls of changkyun's own house are bright, splashed shades of blue which somehow manage to not clash. he'd asked kihyun to advise him on the colour scheme, and kihyun had arrived with buckets of nothing but blue paint, citing the fact that blue is a calming colour and changkyun really does need calm in his life. even his own room is an obnoxious bubblegum blue which blends into a sort of aquamarine towards the ceiling. the guest room is less decorated; but still owning splashes of paint here and there. 

changkyun realizes then that he hasn't heard from hyungwon in half an hour. 

he's at the door of the sole bathroom in the house in moments, long legs crossing the distance between his room and the hallway but still not fast enough. there's silence from behind the door. 

"hyungwon?" changkyun says, panic rising in his throat. "are you done?"

nothing. changkyun tries the doorknob - it's not locked. "hyungwon, i'm coming in," changkyun murmurs before pushing. 

/

he locks eyes with hyungwon, the younger man looking nothing short of a frightened puppy. his knees are hugged to his chest, looking very confused with the tube of soap in his hand. 

"i," hyungwon tries weakly before laughing softly. it sounds like music, nothing like the clashing cymbals that made him up merely days before. "i can't work this." he holds the translucent tube out to changkyun expectantly. 

water drips off his hand as they come into contact, skin rough and coarse, and changkyun shivers. 

changkyun manages to ease the tube of face soap open for hyungwon and hands it back, falls back onto the floor as hyungwon moves to the sink. (why does he have tubed, unopened face soap?) "don't use too much." 

hyungwon nods, the soap obscuring his lips. changkyun tilts his head to watch the younger man scrub it across his face. hyungwon's movements are sluggish, tentative for fear that someone else will hurt him again. 

he doesn't take his eyes off hyungwon the whole time the younger boy's at the sink, because the fear burns brighter in changkyun, brighter than hyungwon is ever going to know. this is a good idea, changkyun tries to reason. anything would be better than leaving hyungwon to rot in that hellhole of an apartment, a deathtrap of his own making. even if hyungwon wanted to rot. 

"thank you," hyungwon whispers. he's been speaking more, even if it's just a few more sentences, since they left his apartment. changkyun thinks that something is changing. 

/

they settle into a routine. changkyun cooks and cleans and hyungwon writes and smiles. the younger man gets used to the feel of a worn leather book and quill, jokes of the past but rewards of the present. changkyun buys him a ring file with dividers so that hyungwon doesn't have to leave his writing in a pile behind him. it works, and changkyun has to hold back tears when he spots the thick file peeking out from between hyungwon's sweater paws. 

hyungwon sleeps through the day and works at night; he tries to reverse it for changkyun, who can't sleep with any noise or light, but it doesn't work. changkyun ends up telling hyungwon that he might as well go ahead, because he is more than content with to staying up staring at hyungwon relax by the light of a greasy oil lamp, soft breaths painting their landscape reds and blues. 

hyungwon's sleeves are folded and his collar is straight, shoulders broad and parallel to the ground. he's come so far from the scared boy hiding in the corner of his apartment, and changkyun knows that he has tried. he has tried, and he is winning. 

there's a strange feeling in changkyun's stomach, something like a balloon with a loose string, losing helium but so very happy about it. it's not pride and it's not his ego and it's not even want. it's the fire swooping from the nozzle of a lamp, it's the oil bubbling in the fuel chamber and it's something which burns continually, eternally, devotionally. 

be afraid, his subconscious whispers. he is a loose cannon with a haywire fuse and he is going to be your apocalypse. he is going to hurt you because he has stopped hurting himself. there are some people who simply have to hurt to thrive and he is one of them. you need to push him away. you need to tell him that you will not be hurt by him. 

he can't do it. he knows he would never be able to do it. even if hyungwon were to rush up to him, teeth bared and soul ripped asunder, changkyun would stand solid, let hyungwon rain the blows down on him. let him do anything he wanted, let him, let him, let him. 

you are my religion, you are my connection, you are my addiction--

you are mine. 

/ 

"why do you put up with me?" hyungwon murmurs one night. 

he's not facing the bed, but changkyun's the only one he speaks to. his quill is hovering over changkyun's inkwell, crinkled paper crunching gently when he changes position. the soft glow of the oil lamp flickers against the white walls, even the places where the walls are blue. changkyun's migrated to hyungwon's room to watch him write. he tells himself it's just a precaution, in case hyungwon does something foolish, just another thing he's doing as part of being hyungwon's caretaker. he knows it isn't true. 

hyungwon lets out an aching sigh when changkyun doesn't say anything, setting his quill down. his shoulders are tight, elbows pulled into his sides, fists clenched. 

i love you, changkyun thinks. 

"i don't," he says quietly. "it's not putting up, hyungwon." 

and please listen to me when i say something nice about you, because i really mean it. 

/

changkyun used to think that he would live his life alone and working. the two aren't mutually exclusive; in fact, they come as a package deal. changkyun couldn't imagine something other than hunched over at his laptop for days on end, pausing only for sleep and tea. it was a boring future, but one that he had worked tirelessly for. something he wouldn't give up for the world.

but hyungwon's here and hyungwon's changed everything, changkyun knows that he wouldn't have it any other way. he's managed to fit himself into changkyun's life. he's the weight on the hands of the clock, he's the fresh air from opened windows and he's the cute dog down the corridor which whines for bellyrubs whenever they pass by, hand in hand. 

changkyun thinks that hyungwon could easily be a colour palette; thinks that he would be good paired with water and a set of fine brushes. thinks that hyungwon could spread his colour anywhere he wanted. 

he wants to be hyungwon's brush. 

"don't go," changkyun's voice is needy, and he can't help but pull hyungwon closer, if only to feel skin against skin. warmth spreads through him like courage, and he finds it in himself to lead hyungwon to his room. where they won't be found, where changkyun can satiate himself. 

he feels marginally guilty then, because this isn't about him or hyungwon or anyone. it's about the both of them. 

and then he wonders how they've gotten here so fast, from unpacked boxes in the living room to pinning the younger boy against the wall, hands poised at his hips. wonders if they will burn out as fast as freshly struck matches. the patterns hyungwon traces into his skin when he slips his hands under changkyun's shirt feel like ash parting from firewood, heat melting into glowing embers. but this is good. this is good for both of them, and isn't that what changkyun has always wanted? 

it's home, or something like it. 

/

"fuck," changkyun whispers as hyungwon locks eyes with him and begins to clean him up with his tongue. his back is cold against the door, but letting his fingers tangle in black hair sends a fire raging through him, consumes him with heat and lust. "you're so hot," he praises. 

hyungwon moans softly, pressing his lips to the inside of changkyun's thighs before drawing back and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. he stares straight into the older man's eyes before slipping changkyun's fingers into his mouth and sucking them off. changkyun feels teeth and a talented tongue press against his flesh and shudders, the chaste yet so very sexual action sending shocks through his body. 

there is silence then, a lull as changkyun slides to the floor beside hyungwon. he's undressed and hyungwon's face is still flushed from the orgasm he was given and they're both panting. hyungwon buries his face in the crook of changkyun's neck, biting and kissing and changkyun thinks that even though this is the first time they've done this, hyungwon already has him figured out. 

/

or maybe he doesn't, because changkyun's patience begins to wear thin. hyungwon is less of a person than he is a pet, someone to be fawned over, someone to engage his existence with. he doesn't care if he lives or dies, and the novelty wears off fast. this is wrong. this is so wrong, but changkyun doesn't know any better.

he's tired. tired of seeing the food in the kitchen that he sets out for hyungwon going cold and forgotten. tired of having to pry hyungwon's nails away from his malleable skin when he has nightmares. tired of caring too much. he starts caring less. starts fading into the darkness. 

hyungwon slips into bed with him one night, holding changkyun close to him. his arms are locked around changkyun's frame almost desperate, hot breath fanning changkyun's neck as he buries his face in changkyun's neck and whimpers softly. 

his presence is warm and stifling, and changkyun feels like he's going to snap. 

changkyun watches their oil lamp burn itself out behind closed eyelids. 

/

the final verse comes one night as changkyun's taking a break. 

they are both irritable; hyungwon from having spent the day outside purchasing materials for his latest project, changkyun from working. they should both see it coming, take precautions and avoid each other, but changkyun closes the refrigerator door to see hyungwon and knows that there is no escape. 

he feels like a caged fighter in a wrestling ring, unwilling to engage in combat but forced to on the pain of death. he wonders if hyungwon feels the same way, if they should talk it out like they never have. how have they survived so long on superficial conversation, curt how was your days and simple nods in reply? what are they? 

because sure, there are nights when they cuddle together and kiss and fuck when changkyun debates using the word couple to describe their relationship. but there are also days where hyungwon locks himself in his own room and refuses to communicate, or weeks on end when they don't talk to each other. they have reasons, feelings, passions, and changkyun has no right to deny him or hyungwon that. but this still feels wrong. this feels like he exchanged virtuous freedom for being a white knight, and the thought disgusts him. there is something false, something not quite right. 

"fuck," hyungwon swears when changkyun tries to push past him, the beginnings of a headache already building in the older man's head. "stop shoving me." 

changkyun fights the fury surging through his veins. forces its head back underwater. 

hyungwon kicks the dustbin when it refuses to open, and swears softly when changkyun makes no move to help him out. his face is twisted, ugly from the strain. "what's gotten into you?" 

"me?" changkyun sputters. "what about you?" 

"me?" hyungwon makes a show of rolling his eyes. "you're the one who's been so pissy lately. i don't even know if this is the same changkyun i know. do you even care any more?" his words are ammunition, his mouth a weapon. guns don't discriminate. they kill and they slaughter and that is precisely what hyungwon aims to do. 

(changkyun has been a fool.)

"what do you think i've spent months on? who do you think i've spent months on?" changkyun's voice feels raw, and something screams that what he's doing is a mistake. "do you think that i've been doing this for fun? i have a life of my own, hyungwon. a life that you weren't part of before... before you came. i've been doing a lot of things, but i haven't been fucking ignoring you." 

he expects hyungwon to scream something back. he almost wants hyungwon to do something. scream, shout, cry, slap him. he doesn't care, as long as he does something, because the impermeable mist over his eyes has returned with a vengeance.

the younger boy nods.

"i understand." 

changkyun's body jerks before it occurs to him that he's made a mistake. but it's too late, and hyungwon is walking away. "hyungwon--" 

"go to bed, changkyun." 

/

changkyun thinks of falling in love as a slow descent into the great beyond, watching pent-up frustration filter through your fingertips as slow as summer rain. 

he wonders if it would be anything like watching your lover march to his death off a cliffside, if it would be like the halting anticipation of leaping off a building, if he would ever fall in love. 

and it's funny, because whenever he thinks of love, he doesn't think of hyungwon. broken boys can't love, he thinks, because they tangle people in stitches of their own, inflict wounds bigger than their own, pull them into webs cobbled from bandages. broken boys have broken dreams flown on broken wings, and it is only a matter of time before hyungwon fans his wings out. 

only a matter of time before everything collapses. 

/

"hyungwon? are you done?" changkyun chirps, trying the doorknob and groaning softly when he realizes it's locked. "hyungwon. i need to leave in a while--" 

the whole world freezes, and changkyun can't see anything but the blade. it blurs his vision and then-

changkyun whirls away to throw up. it's vulgar and changkyun feels vile when he comes up back for air, still choking on the saliva in his throat. it feels as if he hasn't really registered it, but whatever questions he had are answered by the sound of blood against polished tile. 

he's dead. the words spin around changkyun's head like flies, shaking and trembling in bright red font. 

he's gone. hyungwon. haunted writer and haunted poet. how could changkyun have been so stupid? how could he have left him alone in his time of need? 

the guilt is still young, unfurling in him like a poisoned seed, but changkyun knows that it is only going to expand and smite him sooner or later. in a way, he supposes, he has always deserved it, and this is just comeuppance come too late. maybe if it had come earlier, this wouldn't have happened. maybe he would have been able to save hyungwon, wouldn't have to stare at hyungwon's lolling head and the blood painting the walls. 

there are words, crimson text, hollow in the middle but full of disgust at the person he is. changkyun refuses to think about how hyungwon would have been like writing those words; shakily bringing up his bleeding wrist to smear the letters. he thinks about how hyungwon's last moments were. did he cry? or was he triumphant, even in the face of death? 

i was always ready for you -- you just weren't ready for me

changkyun closes his eyes and the whole world drops dead.

(he thinks he made hyungwon up inside his head.) 

/ 

refusing to accept the truth is only delaying pain. 

changkyun works on autopilot. he calls the police and tries not to look at the blood slopping out of the bathtub. he washes away the stains on the walls in case they stick there and stain the marble. he answers all the questions the police and paramedics ask, and his voice doesn't tremble or shake even though the sight of the body bag being lugged out wracks him. he doesn't say a word on the way to the police precinct, not even when hyungwon dances up to him and whispers in his ear that he deserves every bit of this. 

he replies to the texts jooheon sends him asking about lunch tomorrow. (he says no, sorry i have something on :( i'll see u next week?) he scrolls through his emails and deletes the ones from another spam organization. he puts away his shoes in his shoe cabinet and makes his bed to prepare for another sleepless night. 

it takes him two days for him to throw away hyungwon's toothbrush, two weeks for it to sink in that he's really gone, two months for changkyun to stop responding to jooheon's texts, and two years for him to tighten the noose and realize that he can't live without hyungwon.

**Author's Note:**

> great !!


End file.
